The Ear, the Eye and the Arm (28 page)

Ear adjusted his muffs, and Eye put on his sunglasses. Arm braced himself for the barrage of emotions from the Cow's Guts. It was beginning to reach him even before the door opened these days.

I
am
getting more sensitive, Arm thought. Soon I won't be able to rest at all.

Twenty-seven

"What's the Mellower's real name?" asked Tendai. He was lying on a hard canvas cot, and Rita was across the room near a window. She seemed better this morning, although her skin was covered with little blisters from the chicken pox.

"I never thought about it," she said.

"He doesn't have a name," said Kuda, who was busily exploring the den. It was a large dark overcrowded room. Old chairs with sagging backs sat next to crooked lamps. Every shelf and table was covered with knick-knacks. All the vases and baskets were stuffed with broken pens, dried-up gumdrops, sprung paper clips and smudgy erasers.

Tendai noticed a number of animal statuettes. These, too, were old. Three-legged dogs leaned against tailless cats. Pictures of animals decorated the walls. Dusty trophies lined the top of a mantelpiece. But most startling of all was a stuffed horse's head over the fireplace. A brass plaque underneath read:

SON OF STEEL

WE SHALL NOT LOOK UPON HIS LIKE AGAIN

"That's certainly going to give me nightmares," said Rita when she first noticed it.

"Don't you think it's strange she doesn't have pictures of people?" Tendai said.

"I don't know. I've never been in an English house before."

Which was true, of course. Father and Mother hardly knew anyone from the English tribe. The Mellower was so much a part of the family, it was difficult to think of him as an outsider.

"Oh, look!" Rita pointed out the window.

A shrill voice cried, "Stop that at once, you fiend!" Trashman loped past with a T-bone steak in his teeth.

"It's
raw,"
said Rita in disgust. She opened the window. Kuda wrestled himself over the sill and dropped to the grass. Tendai's head hurt so much he had to rest a moment before he could get up.

The Mellower's mother huffed past with a broom in her hands. "Slasher! Fang! Attack that monster!" She was answered by a miserable whine. Tendai saw two Doberman dogs high in a jacaranda tree, where Trashman must have perched them. They were clinging to a branch.

Trashman danced around, dodging the broom. He seemed in a fine mood. He removed the steak from his teeth to babble.

"He says he took the doggies' dinner," translated Kuda.

"I can
see
that! Tell him to get them down before they do themselves an injury. Ha!" She swung the broom at Trashman, who hooted with delight.

Kuda explained what the woman wanted. Trashman, clenching the meat again in his jaws, grasped each dog by the scruff of the neck. They snarled, and he shook them until they howled. Then he dropped them on a pile of grass clippings. They backed away with their tails between their legs.

"I hope you have more meat," called Rita from the window. "Trashman didn't know he wasn't supposed to take it. He isn't very bright."

"I think he's too clever by half," said the Mellower's mother. "And you, miss, if you're well enough to chatter, you're well enough to work. Get back through the window, little boy." She stalked off after the dogs.

"I don't feel right yet," observed Rita. "Just think! We have
chicken pox!
It's like something out of a history book."

Tendai crawled back into bed and pulled up the blanket. If this was history, he wanted no part of it. Rita talked brightly about germs, while Kuda continued to explore the den. He found an enormous cat in one of the chairs. It had long hair and a flat, stupid face. He tried to pick it up, and it hissed at him.

"Leave Pasha's Favorite alone. He might bite you," said the Mellower's mother as she came into the room. Kuda let go of the cat, which had roused itself enough to twitch the tip of its tail.

The woman carried a tray with beef broth and dry crackers. She felt everyone's head before giving them food. "Now you've got it," she informed Tendai. "Don't scratch, miss, unless you want big ugly scars. That's rule one with chicken pox: break a blister and leave a pit. You'll resemble Swiss cheese in no time." Rita looked with dismay at the blisters she had already broken.

"Who was Son of Steel?" asked Tendai.

"Finest show-jumper in Harare. His father was Heather Pride out of Malagasy. He won me all those trophies." She gestured at the mantelpiece.

"You ride horses?" said Rita.

"Of course. I'm a smashing horsewoman. If you
will
open Pasha's mouth, little boy, I can't be responsible for the outcome." Kuda let go of the cat's head. It glared at him sullenly with one fang over its lower lip.

"Pasha's
 
Favorite won the Harare
 
cat
show three years running," the woman went on. "His father was Satin Streak out of Midnight Madness."

"What does that mean? Out of — whatever?" From the way Rita was eating, it was clear her illness was on the mend. Tendai's throat was so sore, he could barely swallow the broth.

"It's a way of saying who the animal's father is."

"You know its
parents?"
said Rita with great interest.

"Its parents and grandparents and great-grandparents," said the Mellower's mother. "The dog Slasher, for example, is really named Slash von Hare Hunter the Third. His mother was Delfina Handchopper out of Gnash von Hare Hunter the
Second.
Gnash was Delfina's father."

Tendai was impatient with all this talk about animals. When the woman paused for breath, he quickly interrupted with: "Have you called our parents?"

"Of course," she replied. "But I'm afraid they weren't at home. They had to go to an important meeting in Beijing. Very hush-hush. Something to do with defense contracts. I'm sure the message will be relayed to them."

"Did you tell the Mellower?"

"Mellower!" exploded the woman. "Is that what you call him? He may be a Mellower in your house, but in this one he is called by his right name."

"Please. I don't know what it is."

"Isn't that just typical! Have someone around for donkey's years and don't bother to find out what he's called. I suppose you think he's one of the robots. Well! His name is Anthony Horsepool-Worthingham, and a very fine one it is."

"I'm sorry. It was rude," said Tendai.

"You don't know
my
name either, of course. Beryl Horsepool-Worthingham.
My
mother was a member of parliament — Vera Bloodworthy — and my father was High Court Justice Stilton Horsepool."

"Beryl Horsepool-Worthingham out of Stilton Horsepool," said Rita with satisfaction.

The Mellower's mother flared her nostrils. "That description of one's family is
only
used with animals — as I suspect you realize, Miss Impertinence. If I didn't know better, I would guess
you
were discovered in a basket at Mbare Musika. Now since your tongue is so very active, the rest of you can hop out of bed. Run along to the bathroom — you're decidedly whiffy. You may clear the dishes later. No,
don't
scratch. You'll look like the craters of the moon."

Mrs. Horsepool-Worthingham's voice died away as she ferried Rita down the hall. Tendai lay back on the hard cot and shivered. He was too wretched to sleep. Even the blanket hurt his skin. He watched Kuda roll Pasha's Favorite on its back. The cat waved its paws in the air and slowly rolled back. Kuda turned it over again.

Rita returned in an old shirt and shorts that had belonged to the Mellower. She gathered up the dishes and cups.

"What's that smell?" said Tendai.

"Olive oil." Rita grimaced. "Mrs. Horsepool-Worthingham says it will keep my skin from scarring. I smell like a pizza."

It made Tendai sick. He was glad when she left. He drifted off to sleep and awoke to find a lunch of tea and cream crackers covered with a thin layer of marmalade.

"They're stale,' said Rita, wrinkling her nose. Tendai thought she was definitely recovering. Kuda squatted by the cat's bowl as Mrs. Horsepool-Worthingham cut up raw liver with a pair of silver scissors. He tried to take a piece, and she slapped his hands.

"Raw liver is stuffed with tapeworms, little boy. Once they're inside, they grow in a bunch until they're as big as a soccer ball."

 
"That's why the cat's so fat," said Kuda, nodding with understanding.

"Children should come with zippers on their mouths and a sign saying
Not to be opened until age eighteen,"
snapped Mrs. Horsepool-Worthingham.

In the afternoon, Tendai heard her screaming at Trashman to keep out of the mango trees. Rita came in for a nap, but Kuda wouldn't stay in bed. He climbed out the window and found Trashman. Together, they sat under a tree and ate fruit.

Dinner was skim milk, boiled carrots and toast spread with fish paste. It was served in the den because Tendai was too sick to move. "Don't waste food," said the Mellower's mother as Rita tried to scrape the fish paste off. "In my day we ate what was put before us or went without. Clean your plate, and you may have a graham cracker for dessert."

"Why can't we have steak like the dogs?" complained Rita.

"Those are
show
dogs. They have to be kept in peak condition to win prizes. Plain food is good for children anyway. It builds character. You have only yourself to blame for a bellyache, Kuda. Green mangoes will do it every time."

Tendai drifted in and out of sleep as he listened. Sometimes the bed seemed to be floating on a dark sea with little sunlit islands that resolved into the crooked lamps when he focused on them. He was unable to eat. Once he saw Rita squinting at a mending job Mrs. Horsepool-Worthingham had given her. Once he saw Kuda defiantly kicking as he was lifted into bed. The little sunlit islands floated away, and it was dark.

In a shaft of moonlight he saw the horse's head with one of its glass eyes shining. Outside, the Dobermans loped through the garden. Tendai got up. He saw Trashman sprawled on a pile of dry leaves. The dogs rushed past. Their eyes flashed red, and their long teeth gleamed. He held his breath.

They swerved over to the heap of leaves. Then, with a melancholy howl, they backed away. They ran on in the darkness, patrolling the house.

They didn't hurt Trashman, but Tendai was not at all sure they would be as kind to him. He sighed and went back to bed.

It was three days before he was able to come to the breakfast table in the kitchen. By that time, Kuda had come down with the sickness. Rita bustled importantly around the stove, adjusting the temperature, moving a teakettle, flicking toast over with a long fork. The mournful robot creaked after her.

The table was laid with a starched cloth and good, if chipped, dishes. The robot placed a small egg in a china cup by each plate. It filled crystal glasses with orange juice. Tendai was cheered by the sight.

Mrs. Horsepool-Worthingham sat in a captain's chair at the head of the table. She expertly tapped off a little crown of shell from her egg. "What's this? It's hard! I ordered three-minute eggs."

"My-timer-is-broken," said the robot gloomily.

"A likely excuse! You've been at the machine oil again. Don't lie to me! I checked the level yesterday." Mrs. Horsepool-Worthingham poked at her egg with a spoon. "All you robots do is lie about and drink machine oil. I ought to send you to the dump."

"Yes-madam," said the robot.

Rita dished up bowls of oatmeal. She filled a large jug with skim milk, but the Mellower's mother measured out the sugar. She said, "When I was a girl, we only had sugar on Sundays." Rita made a face behind her back, and Tendai frowned at his sister.

After all, Mrs. Horsepool-Worthingham was taking care of them. She could have left them outside the gate, chicken pox and all.